


reacquainted

by mixtapestar



Series: retry [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication, Healing, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Sentimental, Suicidal Thoughts (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Sometimes healing is more than just physical. Eliot and Quentin work through the first few weeks after the Seam.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: retry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984253
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	reacquainted

**Author's Note:**

> For Comfortween Day 24: Let's Get Dangerous (recovery from a more serious injury).
> 
> This one is a continuation from day 5 (hair washing) but can be read as a standalone.
> 
> Further warnings: This fic assumes the events of 4x13 were the same, except Penny got Q out. Quentin talks about the same thoughts alluded to in that episode, though he's working past them in this fic.
> 
> Thank you Rubi for your help! <3

Recovery from an axe wound to the gut, it turns out, is not a quick thing, even with magic.

Eliot spends the first week hating his cane, trying to go from the bedroom to the kitchen without it and cursing when he has to call for help. And Quentin is there every time, willing to help and somehow making Eliot feel less like a fuckup for purposefully leaving his cane behind. Quentin, who is clearly happy to have him back, but still flinches whenever Eliot moves a certain way.

The next week goes better. Eliot is relearning how to be in his body, ready to leave his room and rejoin the world. Quentin also seems the slightest bit brighter, smiles coming easier when they share a meal.

Eliot is comfortable enough with his cane by week three to actually leave the apartment. Quentin insists on joining him, "just in case," as if Eliot would have dreamt of turning him down.

Their walks become a regular thing, strolling around Manhattan and, slowly but surely, starting to talk about more serious topics. Eliot finally gets a firmer picture of what life was like for everyone else while he was trapped in his mind, and the implications make him shudder. No wonder no one hangs around the penthouse anymore.

"Would it be… easier for you, if I stayed somewhere else?" Eliot asks. He's less reliant on help these days, even if he misses Quentin washing his hair for him.

Quentin stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Honestly?" Eliot nods. "No."

"No?" Eliot repeats, surprised but pleased. He has to remind himself daily that Quentin has no idea about the details of Eliot's last few months of consciousness, trapped in his own mind. That Eliot has spent an ample amount of time reflecting on his life and coming to terms with just how much he loves Quentin. But Quentin didn't have that luxury of self-reflection. He'd been fighting for his life out here while Eliot hid out in a facsimile of the Physical Kids' Cottage and sipped imaginary cocktails.

They reach their favorite bench in Central Park, and Eliot eases down onto it, stretching out his legs as Quentin wrings his hands and tries to come up with an answer for Eliot. Not in any hurry, Eliot gives him time to think, taking in the people milling about the park, walking their dogs, going for a run, having a picnic in the sunlight. It's nice, just to be outside.

"It's… important to me, after all this time seeing the Monster wearing your skin, to see you as yourself," Quentin begins, then falters.

Eliot purses his lips. "He fixated on you," he says, feeling guilty, wondering—not for the first time—if his own feelings for Quentin were the cause of the Monster's obsession. It makes sense that Quentin would want to see Eliot in his own body, acting like himself, to prove that the Monster was gone.

"It's not just that," Quentin says, not discounting it. "I just… missed you. I guess that's the easiest way to say it. I kept finding myself thinking that I needed to talk things through with you, to sort out how we were going to take him down together. Even after I knew you were still alive—which we should probably talk about eventually—you were still _gone_."

Eliot reaches out, slowly, Quentin tracking the movement, and rests his hand over Quentin's on the bench. Some of the tension seems to ease in Quentin's shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere," Eliot assures him softly. "Not if you want me here."

Quentin lets out a shaky breath. "Don't feel like you have to stay here for my sake. Just—let me visit, maybe, or visit me?"

"Q," he says, and waits for Quentin to meet his eye. "I said I'm not going anywhere."

A sliver of a smile appears on Quentin's face. "Okay."

Week four drags on forever. Eliot is running low on pain pills, and his follow-up visit to Brakebills is looming large on the horizon. He doesn't exactly relish being back there while cognizant of his surroundings, not after spending a small eternity in his mind's version of the place.

Julia visits them for a couple of nights, creating a nice change of pace. She brings a board game that Eliot assumes will be a nice distraction for the two of them, but then he gets roped into playing too.

"Are you sure I can't use these blue thingamajigs?" Eliot asks, gesturing to the pile of tokens.

"Not until we all finalize our home base," Quentin says, exasperated. Eliot shares a smile with Julia while Quentin's not looking. It's the third time he's asked; he just can't help riling Quentin up.

After that, they move on to a different, less complicated card game. It takes Eliot three rounds to realize Quentin is for sure cheating.

"Oh, come on, really? Is the ace of spades even in play anymore?"

Quentin smiles sheepishly and pushes it out from under his sleeve.

"You are impossible," Eliot gripes, snatching it from him. Quentin's smile is triumphant.

As Julia giggles, Eliot ducks his head and tries to let himself enjoy this moment of pure joy.

The night before his follow-up visit, Eliot sits with Quentin on the couch, sharing popcorn and trying to decide on something to watch. Eliot is down to his last pain pill, which he will absolutely need to fall asleep later, so he's enjoying a glass of wine while not under the strictures of prescription drugs.

"Can I ask?" Quentin says, startling Eliot out of his debate over whether _To All the Boys I've Loved Before_ is worth watching.

"Ask away," Eliot grants, even though he has no idea what's coming.

"Why are you so worried about seeing Dr. Lipson tomorrow?"

Eliot raises his eyebrows, setting the remote aside. "I had no idea I was so transparent."

Quentin scoots closer on the couch, his arm brushing the back of Eliot's shoulders. As always, Quentin seems to have no qualms touching Eliot, as long as he's the one instigating it. Eliot shifts toward him in return until their thighs are touching on the couch. "Just to me," Quentin answers, picking at the couch cushion with his free hand.

"It's not the follow-up that's the problem. It's the location." Quentin tilts his head up, his look urging Eliot to go on. With a deep breath, Eliot starts to explain exactly what these past months were like for him, how it started out as a 'Happy Place' but eventually morphed into something darker, more like 'The Only Safe Place'. "I don't know that it'll even affect me, being on campus. But I don't think I can go back to the cottage anytime soon."

Quentin nods. Eliot realizes Quentin has moved his hand to his shoulder at some point, and leans into his touch. "We'll keep the visit short, then. Save the nostalgic tour for later."

Eliot snorts a laugh. "Right." He had no idea Quentin intended to go with him, but he supposes it makes sense. Quentin has practically been his caretaker this whole time.

"I guess, I don't know if this will help or hurt, but uh. I think Margo's going to be there, tomorrow." Eliot sits up in surprise, grimacing at the unexpected pull in his side. "It was supposed to be a surprise, so if she kills me you'll know why, but. I dunno, given all that, I thought you might like a heads up?"

"No, yeah, that's good to know." He sighs, feeling guilty. "I _am_ excited to see her again, but— you know how I dropped the tupperware in the floor last week, and you didn't even flinch, you just tensed up and froze? The way you looked at me then—"

"—Eliot, that's not your fault—"

"—I don't want to make you or anyone feel like that ever again. And it's hard, to figure out what's... allowed, or I guess what's gonna set someone off. Even harder with more people."

" _El_ ," Quentin says desperately, pulling him into a hug. Eliot shudders and wraps his arms around Quentin, feeling safe in mirroring Quentin's touches. "You don't have to—fucking— _guess_ about how we're gonna feel. Just ask if you're worried." Quentin starts to loosen his hold; Eliot holds on desperately, tighter, needing his comfort right now while he knows he's allowed to have it. Luckily, Quentin pulls him back in. "And I'm sorry if I looked at you weird. I'm trying to forget."

"I don't expect you to forget," Eliot says, muffled into Quentin's shoulder. "I'm just trying not to remind you."

Quentin buries his head into Eliot's shoulder, and maybe it's wishful thinking, but Eliot thinks he feels the shape of Quentin's lips there through the fabric of his shirt before he pulls away. This time, when he loosens his hold, Eliot lets him go. "Can I tell you a little about what those months were like for me? I think it might give you some perspective. I dunno, maybe not. But my therapist helped me talk it out for myself."

Eliot smiles, to know that Quentin is on his path to healing too. "Tell me."

As Quentin recounts his time with the Monster, it's easy to see how it wasn't just the Monster, for Quentin. Things were getting dark for Quentin on all sides, and while it pains Eliot to know he couldn't be there for him, it's also a balm to hear him talk about it with finality, in past tense.

"That last day. The day we _got you back_. I was barely keeping it together, El. I was so single-minded, thinking that all I needed to do to like, fulfill my purpose, was take care of the Monsters once and for all. That that would fix whatever wrong I put into the world and I could be done. If Penny hadn't gotten me out of there, I think I might have…"

Quentin falters, unable to complete the sentence. Eliot places a hand on his knee and softly says, "Fallen on your sword?" Quentin nods, tears falling from his eyes. Eliot's chest hurts so much he struggles to breathe for a second. He turns and telegraphs his movements as he reaches out toward Quentin. "Can I hug you again?"

Quentin nods and falls against his chest this time, letting Eliot hold him completely in his arms while he cries. After a few more seconds trying to fight it, Eliot finally gives in and lets his own tears fall, for Quentin, for himself, for all the pain they've had to go through.

After several minutes pass, and Eliot thinks they've both at least calmed down, he takes a breath and clears his throat. "But you're seeing someone now, right?" he asks, thinking of the aforementioned therapist.

"No," Quentin says quickly, sitting up out of Eliot's embrace. Eliot raises his eyebrows at the confused look Quentin is sending him. "Oh, you mean—" Quentin laughs and rubs at his own cheeks. "Yeah, Dr. Malloy. She's been helping me work through a lot of my stupid brain shit. She's also a really gifted Physical Magician. She taught me how to use Translocation to simulate counting sheep, when I have insomnia."

Eliot grins. "Really?"

"Really," Quentin confirms, slumping up against Eliot's side with Eliot's arm still around him. "I'll show you when we get back tomorrow."

"Something to look forward to," Eliot says, staring at the top of Quentin's head and fighting with himself over whether it'd be okay to slide his fingers through his hair. He remembers Quentin's words, _just ask if you're worried_. "Hey Q?" Quentin makes a noise not unlike _huh_? "Do you mind if I touch your hair?"

Quentin stiffens, but not in the same way as the tupperware night, and he's already relaxed again when he answers, "Yeah, that'd be— you can do that."

And so they sit there in comfortable silence, Eliot petting Quentin's hair, both of them staring at the Netflix screensaver reel. Eliot is overwhelmed with just how _content_ he feels, sitting here doing nothing. The last—the _only_ time he felt this way was during their time at the mosaic. He never would have dreamt he could have a moment like this with Quentin again.

"I'm not, you know," Quentin says, breaking his reverie. "Seeing anyone. Like, romantically."

Eliot's fingers freeze for a moment, but then he continues brushing through Quentin's hair. He gives himself an extra second to respond, to be sure his voice will cooperate. "Oh?"

"I know that's not what you were asking, before. I just—"

"No, I— that's good to know." The ensuing silence is a little more charged than before. Finally, Eliot adds, "I'm not either."

Quentin barks out a laugh, startling Eliot in its intensity. Now that he's said it, Eliot acknowledges it would be kind of absurd for anything else to be true. Before long, Eliot is holding a hand to his side over his bandage to keep from shaking too much as they laugh together.

"Oh, god," Quentin says, calming down and wiping fresh tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry. That was just—I needed that." He shifts to pull his feet onto the couch and faces Eliot more directly, laying a hand over his chest. Eliot's breath catches. "Can I kiss you?"

Eliot licks his lips, watching Quentin's eyes slip down to track the movement. He brings his hand to the back of Quentin's neck, where it fits as perfectly as it always has. With the answer all but obvious at this point, he instead says, "Since when do you ask for permission?"

"Good point," Quentin says, smiling, and leans in to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! <3


End file.
